In the Unlikely Event...

• Chapter One—Dancing Lessons
  
• Chapter Two—Explanations
  
• Chapter Three—Politics
  
• Chapter Four—The Toy Store
  
• Chapter Five—The Escape
  
• Chapter Six—The Blob
  
• Chapter Seven—Experiments
  
• Chapter Eight—Map of Life
  
• Chapter Nine—Decorum
  
• Chapter Ten—Risk
  
• Chapter Eleven—The Manicure
  
• Chapter Twelve—The Undoing
  
• Chapter Thirteen—Wrapping Alaska
  
• Chapter Fourteen—Explosives
  
• Chapter Fifteen—Group Therapy
  
• Chapter Sixteen—Double Jeopardy
  
• Chapter Seventeen—It’s a Wrap
  
• Chapter Eighteen—The Marriage
  
• Epilogue
  

Copyright © 2012 by Saxon Bennett

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Bella Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 10543

Tallahassee, FL 32302

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

First published 2012

Editor: Medora McDougall

Cover designer: Kiaro Creative

ISBN 13: 978-1-59493-297-7

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Other Bella Books by Saxon Bennett

Back Talk

Both Sides

Date Night Club

Family Affair

Higher Ground

Marching to a Different Accordion

Old Ties

A Question of Love

Sweet Fire

Talk of the Town

Talk of the Town Too

The Wish List

To Layce and Emma for helping me with ideas and getting those pages done.

About the Author

Saxon Bennett lives in Oklahoma with Layce, Emma and their two dogs Bear and Darla Sue. To read more about Saxon go to her website at
[email protected].

“I am a safe, sane and successful person,” Chase said. She was plagued by thoughts of crepe paper.

“What did you say?” Bud asked.

“Nothing,” Chase replied. She plucked the jar of peanut butter from the pantry.

Bud made no further remark. It amazed Chase that people let her get away with that. Whenever someone else said “nothing” it drove Chase crazy. She wanted to say, “You said something because I heard it, and saying something out loud in the presence of another requires you, by the social contract that allows society to function, to repeat what you said and explain its relevance.”

Bud watched her. “Is there something on your mind?”

“Why?”

“You appear anxious, and you’ve made three separate trips to the pantry, so apparently you’re distracted.”

Chase stared at her daughter and let out a sigh. Bud knew her too well.

“I’m on the decorating committee for the Fall Frolic dance thing,” Chase said, as she made three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, one for Bud and the other two for Bud’s friends, Collins and Summer. Gitana teased her about being the head of the Albuquerque Academy’s Feed the World program, to which Chase responded, “If I don’t, the world eats Bud’s lunch.”

“That’s fantastic news. Now Collins owes me five dollars,” Bud said.

“You’re gambling. I thought that was against school policy.”

Bud rolled her eyes. “I donate all my winnings to charity.”

Chase finished the sandwiches and put them in Bud’s oversized lunchbox. There was barely room as she’d already filled it with copious amounts of fruit because Collins, who wanted to be a vegetarian but was not allowed, was also a follower of Epicurus and ate more fruit than seemed humanly possible. Collins’s mother was still basing her opinion of fruit upon the Joni Mitchell song which mentioned DDT. It was a good thing Chase was a well-paid author or the food budget alone would bankrupt her.

“What did you bet her?”

“That you would cave in to the peer pressure of the Coffee Clutch and do their bidding,” Bud said. She was checking the contents of her backpack in preparation for school because, as they both knew, Chase would check to insure that Bud had checked to insure that she had everything. There was a lot of insuring and checking in the Banter household.

“It’s the Coffee
Klatch
,” Chase informed her, alarmed that her brilliant child had made such an error. Bud remembered everything. It was Bud’s ability to store knowledge that produced her high IQ scores.

“I was being sardonic. I think ‘clutch’ more aptly describes the situation. Have you ever decorated anything in your life? Do you even know what crepe paper is?” Bud raised her eyebrow.

Chase wished she could do that. Bud’s proclivity was inherited from her biological mother, Gitana, who was also a master of the raised eyebrow.

“Of course I do. I’m in charge of procurement.”

“Hmm,” Bud said, setting her cereal bowl in the sink. At six, she wasn’t tall enough to rinse the bowl, but Bud was a firm believer in egalitarian housekeeping—an if-they-all-did-their-share-according-to-their-means kind of thing. There was that damn Marxist crap again, Chase thought as she rinsed the bowl and handed it back to Bud, who put it in the dishwasher.

“Where exactly do you get this crepe paper stuff anyway?” Chase said and then amended her statement. “I mean where would be the best place to get it?”

“I suppose you could try Home Depot,” Bud said, shrugging.

Gitana came bounding downstairs. “What do we need at Home Depot?” she asked. She had that alarmed look on her face that she got whenever Chase embarked on a major remodeling project. “You remember that I have the Orchid Expo in a week and we are swamped at work.” Gitana owned the nursery, Blooming Orchids. She poured herself coffee and looked anxiously in Chase’s direction.

Chase kissed her cheek and said, “I thought I’d add a second story to the writing studio, so I can have that library we’ve always talked about.”

Gitana’s eyes got big. “No, Chase, please, not now. I just can’t. I’m already stressed over the Expo.”

Bud smirked and Gitana caught it. “She’s yanking my chain, right?”

Bud nodded. “I wonder what the etymological origin of that phrase is?”

“We’ll Google it on the way to school,” Chase said.

“Chase is going to Home Depot to buy crepe paper for the school dance. She’s in charge of procurement.”

“Ha! Donna owes me five bucks,” Gitana said.

“Let me get this straight—you bet Collins I would cave on the decoration thing,” Chase said, waggling a finger at Bud before turning back to Gitana. “And you bet Donna?”

Gitana had the good grace to look guilty. “Well, I actually bet Donna that you would succumb to peer pressure. It didn’t have anything to do with crepe paper, really.”

“And that’s supposed to make it better?” Chase poured coffee in her to-go mug.

“Donna did bet five dollars that you wouldn’t go anywhere near the dance. She had faith in you.”

“Remind me to thank her,” Chase said. She thought for a moment. “Mistake me if I’m wrong…”

“The phrase is actually ‘correct me if I’m wrong,’” Bud interjected.

Chase sighed. Sometimes it was difficult having a Mensa child. “May I finish?”

“By all means.”

“Just because I am learning to be a more involved parent does not make me a pawn to the gavels of suburbanites. Is that what you people are betting on—that I cave as a consequence of my parental concern?”

Gitana looked at Bud. “Is there some kind of…you know, term for what she is doing to us?”

“Aristotle’s Fallacy of Consequence,” Bud said, zipping up her backpack.

Chase, having perfected the “Bud Smirk,” smirked. Then she remembered the crepe paper. “So, just offhand where would be the best place to buy this crepe paper stuff. I mean, where would you go?” She directed the question at both of them.

“Oh, Home Depot, I suppose,” Gitana said.

This time Bud smirked.

“Are you yanking my chain? Home Depot doesn’t sell crepe paper, right?” Chase said.

Gitana relented. “No, it doesn’t. Go to Hobby Lobby.”

Chase glanced over at Bud for confirmation. She nodded.

“What, you don’t trust me?” Gitana said, putting her hand across her heart in feigned hurt.

“I did mess with you so you’d be within your rights to mess with me,” Chase said.

“But I wouldn’t do that,” Gitana said, wrapping her arms around Chase’s neck and kissing her. “Well, I might…”

“I could help you pick out the crepe paper,” Bud said.

“Oh, now you’re all helpful. What do you need?”

“More paper, charcoal sticks and another eraser,” Bud said, looking hopeful.

Gitana smiled and ruffled Bud’s curls. Chase was impressed that Bud still tolerated this. That was one of the hardest things about Bud growing up. Kids, Chase had noticed, had this tendency to stop being little teddy bear people that you could cuddle and begin to develop their own sense of self and personal space. Chase understood about personal space in her own world, but allowing Bud her own space had been a trial. It was a weaning process. She waited for Bud to initiate it. Bud seemed to sense this and gave herself over when she felt Chase getting that I-just-
want-to-scoop-you-up-in-my-arms-and-squeeze-so-hard look
on her face. She would lean against Chase and take her hand. Chase felt the physical release and thought, Not yet, it hasn’t started yet. They’d talked about this proverbial cutting of the apron strings at the Coffee Klatch. Chase learned a lot from the suburbanites with gavels so she put up with the “crepe paper” incidents.